“But I’m eating.”

  “You need to sleep.”

  “Not happening, Barrons. What do you think her game is?”

  “Finish that bar, eat a second one, drink some water, and we’ll find out.”

  I roll my eyes but follow his advice then also dash into a bathroom to pee and splash some water on my face. I stare at myself in the mirror a moment and snort. I may be part Fae and hard to kill, but I still have smudges of exhaustion beneath my eyes. That’s bullshit.

  Since I’ve been to the grove before and know the layout, I sift us into protective cover at the edge of the forest, the better to scope out the enemy. I expect to find either an army of Fae waiting for us, or no one to be seen.

  I’m wrong on both counts.

  Ixcythe and Azar are seated in the middle of the glade, the epitome of relaxed elegance, at a long table decked with linens, crystal, and china, covered with a mouthwatering spread of food, appetizers, lusciously ripe fruits, desserts, and a ruby red bottle of wine.

  God, I’m hungry. The power bars didn’t make a dent, and sifting takes energy.

  I glance at Barrons.

  Eat nothing. Trust nothing.

  Agreed, I reply.

  “Come. Join us,” Azar calls. “We feel when you sift in.”

  As we leave the cover of the forest and approach the table in the clearing, I demand, “Where is my father?”

  “You know where he is,” Ixcythe says, popping a frosted grape in her mouth, wintry gaze raking me from head to toe with blatant contempt. “You can’t sift to him. That tells you all you need to know. Well, not all, but it does tell you I’m holding him in one of the fragments Darroc caused when he brought down the walls between our realms and our worlds crashed together.” Her gaze moves to Barrons and heats up instantly. She regards him with frank lust while murmuring to me, “I told you to come alone.”

  “And knew I wouldn’t.”

  “You always bring the beast. I would, as well. He’s quite fascinating. I would like to have him for myself.”

  Barrons says softly, “Get to the bloody point. What do you want in exchange for Jack?”

  Ixcythe narrows her eyes. “Manners matter. Sit. Join us. We wish to discuss our future.”

  Barrons smiles faintly. “We’ve already established your future is mortal. And very short.”

  She shrugs. “If you consider five hundred years short. The Song hasn’t undone our immortality yet. It might be another century before it reaches that point. That’s six long centuries the woman you serve might pass peacefully. Or spend it incessantly looking over her shoulder, while you try to protect everyone she loves.”

  I say, “He doesn’t serve me.”

  “Of course he does. Why else would he remain at your side?” she counters.

  “Difficult for your kind to comprehend that there’s more to life than rulers and serfs, predators and prey,” I say. “You want to believe he serves me because a servant’s loyalty can be bought or swayed, and that might give you a chance at him.”

  Barrons gives her a smile that’s all teeth and savagery. “Not in any reality, princess.”

  “Now you merely intrigue me more,” Ixcythe purrs.

  “Get to the point,” I echo Barrons’s command.

  “I agree,” Azar snaps. “Get to the fucking point, Ix.”

  Winter’s gaze moves, with obvious reluctance, from Barrons to me, her eyes narrowing and cooling markedly. “We’re willing to accept you as queen.”

  “Convenient,” I scoff. “Since I already am. Whether you accept it or not.”

  “What Ixcythe means to say,” Azar says, cutting her a pointed and furious glance, “is that we hope you are willing to guide and care for our species. You now know that memory and emotion have been restored and that, in five to six centuries, our species will go extinct. Will you see to us until then?”

  “See to you how? Have you given up your quest for the Elixir?”

  “No. And we won’t,” Ixcythe says. “We hope, in time, you’ll change your mind. And, in time, we will learn to live together, and humans will no longer fear us. We also acknowledge that the Unseelie”—she emphasizes Un heavily—“destroyed a significant number of humans. That number was in the billions, I believe. While the Seelie have infrequently preyed upon humans, we are responsible for a fraction of a percentage of lives lost. A mere few thousand lives can be placed at our feet, over our eons of inhabiting this planet. Billions attributed to the Shadow Court. Quite a difference, wouldn’t you agree? We are not monsters. You look at the pair of us and see the deaths of billions of mortals. Yet it was not the Light Court that caused those deaths. The amorphous ones, the tusked, slithering, crawling, and lumbering ones—” She breaks off, shuddering. “It was the ugly and vile Fae that slayed so many of your kind.”

  “We were deceived, my queen,” Azar insists. “Cruce posed as one of the Seelie for hundreds of thousands of years. An Unseelie infiltrated our court. He was the one that urged us to become savages, who spoke fervently in the support of Aoibheal while campaigning privately to perpetrate new, increasingly aggressive attacks on humans, as the Unseelie are wont to do in far greater excess than the Seelie. It was he who reinstituted the Wild Hunt. He placed a token on the throne, ruled us through it.”

  Right, blame everything on the person you believe is dead, I think acerbically but remain silent, letting them talk, screening for subtext.

  “We were misled and manipulated,” Ixcythe asserts with imperious ire. “Is it any wonder we are angry? Any wonder, after Cruce and Aoibheal, we distrust all humans and would prefer to govern ourselves? How would you feel if one of the Light Court Fae was in charge of your species, responsible for making all the decisions that govern you? A Fae that knew little to nothing of humans? Would there not be resistance? Would you not, when your way of life was threatened—the only way of life you’d known and enjoyed—seek leverage to restore to your people the rights and privileges they once had?”

  Well. She had a point there. Perhaps even two.

  “Adding insult to injury,” Azar presses her point, “we’ve lived for hundreds of thousands of years, yet we’re to be governed by a being that has lived what? Scant decades.”

  Another fair point, I concede, a fair concern. “I see your points of view. And, as I stated earlier—and also the first time I came to court and was met with nothing but deceit and hostility—I seek a way for our species to coexist peacefully.” I pause to lend emphasis to my next words. “I’m also open to one day returning the queen’s power to the Fae.”

  Azar’s eyes widen then swiftly narrow, and he studies me intently through half-closed lids, similar to the fashion in which Cruce often regarded me. “Why would you do that?”

  “Do you really think I want to govern you? Aoibheal thrust her power into me in order to neutralize the Sinsar Dubh. That was virtually her entire reason for doing it, plus a significant amount of spitefulness. Cruce was there when she did it, demanding she pass the power to him. You think you’re angry that you were misled? Aoibheal, whose real name is Zara, by the way, was once human and loved her mortal life and family. She loved her world, and she loved the Unseelie king. She was stolen from that king by Cruce, who raped her, wiped her memory, lied and told her she was Fae then thrust her into the rule of a species that not only wasn’t hers but had savaged her repeatedly. She was a bit pissed off, too.”

  “The significant lesson there is that mortal and Fae don’t mix,” Ixcythe says sharply.

  “Agreed,” I reply just as sharply. “And precisely why the walls that once stood between realms served a purpose. But if you wish me to concede that you’ve been misled and misguided, you must concede there are legitimate grievances on both sides, and both parties have reason to be angry and defensive. From that position, we may find our way to an arrangement where we all prosper.”

  “There’s truth in your words. Sit.” Azar waves a hand at the chairs. “This is the discussion we need to have.”

  I glance at Barrons, who nods, then pull out a chair and drop into it. He remains standing, slightly behind me and to the left, regarding the Fae with a narrowed, intent gaze. “Did you know,” I say, “in order to gain the other half of the Song, in order to sing it and heal the planet to which you are tethered, I had to agree to pass the queen’s power to Cruce?”

  Ixcythe’s hands fist, her eyes narrow with fury, and she hisses, “You said you would return it to us one day!”

  “I have no intention of passing it to him. There’s a loophole in our Compact.”

  Azar shrugs indolently. “He’s dead anyway. The Song killed all the Unseelie.”

  “Cruce is not only not dead, we recently learned he created a new Shadow Court.” My doubts about whether they knew he was alive are instantly erased. Both gape, mouths ajar for several moments, then they explode from their chairs and begin roaring, at each other, at me, accusing me of helping the Shadow Court, accusing each other of knowing and working in collusion with Cruce, accusing me of failing to protect the Seelie. I’m surprised they don’t fall on each other in their fury. They genuinely don’t have the faintest idea how to handle emotion. They lived without it far too long. This species that was once cool and composed and scarcely telegraphed a mere hint of motive now has motive written all over their faces.

  I lean back in my chair, folding my arms, waiting until they run out of steam, eying the spread of delicious-looking roasted meats, olives stuffed with garlic and cheeses, an array of seasoned vegetables and crusty breads, three types of delicately sauced fish, the plumpest, ripest fruits I’ve ever laid eyes on, but most of all—an impossibly tempting cake that has my name written all over it and beckons as insidiously as an Alice in Wonderland potion, flashing the words: eat me.

  I sigh, mouth watering.

  It’s seven layers of deep, rich chocolate cake, garnished between each layer with a raspberry compote, and topped with an inch of frothy pink frosting, embellished with delicate curls of dark chocolate and lightly dusted with cacao. I mentally scoop it onto a plate and begin to devour it, bite by decadent chocolate bite, tuning them out.

  When finally they lapse into silence, I drag my thoughts from the confection and say, “The Shadow Court is our shared enemy, as you yourself said, responsible for billions of human deaths. And although Cruce’s court has not yet attacked, with him as their ruler, I’m certain it won’t be long before he attempts to assert dominion over our world.” It’s what he’s always been after. Ultimate rule.

  They search my eyes, gauging my sincerity.

  “She means it, Ix,” Azar says finally.

  Ixcythe sighs and slumps heavily into her chair, drops her face into her hands, rubs her eyes in such an uncannily human gesture that I, once again, wonder if human and Fae began existence more alike than not. Finally she lifts her head, wintry eyes glittering with icy crystals of rage and fear. “They will destroy us once we’re mortal! You must give us the Elixir again. My queen, you can’t leave us powerless against them. Is that what you wish? The Shadow Court to endure and prosper while the Light Court goes extinct? Would you choose them over us? If you return our immortality, we will go to war against them. With you.”

  I glance at Barrons, who growls silently, If you so much as touch that bloody cake, I’ll smash this one, too. You will not eat in Faery.

  I nearly snort with laughter, remembering the fiasco of a night when I’d tried to give him a pink-frosted chocolate birthday cake. I have no intention of eating it. I was just looking at it. Take a seat, Barrons. They’re finally open to discussion. I glance longingly at the cake before sifting it to the far end of the glade. Out of sight, out of mind.

  We’re going to be here awhile.

  * * *

  Hours later, the four of us have hammered out an agreement. It’s far from complete. We still have significant issues to resolve.

  But we’ve agreed upon enough that I have hope we will eventually find a way to share the Earth for the next five to six hundred years. Talking with them made me realize my surest bet is to figure out how to sing the ancient Song and rebuild the walls between our realms. Then I could seal both Light and Shadow Courts away (and I’d probably have to give the Seelie the Elixir again, because I’m not willing to let Cruce kill them all), and they could deal with each other. I now have a deeper understanding of why the first queen imprisoned the Unseelie. They were rabid, dangerous. I can only hope Cruce created a more rational, less savage court.

  Ixcythe and Azar made a number of valid points. So did I. Though, in repayment for what they’ve done to my father, I’d like to let them die out, I’m not willing to let the Shadow Court be the only one that survives. I have no idea, quite honestly, what I’m willing to do to prevent that. I need downtime to think things through.

  “An exchange of tokens is necessary to finalize terms,” Azar says.

  “What token do you offer?” I say coolly.

  Ixcythe says, “I will return your father. You may take him back to the mortal realm. The spell the beast placed upon him holds. He has not worsened.”

  “He’s still dying, though.”

  “The Elixir will prevent that.”

  “It’s not an option for my father,” I say flatly.

  Ixcythe is silent a moment then says, “There may be an antidote. I need time to search.”

  “What do you seek in exchange?”

  “Restore my court. They suffer, in fragments, drifting across my kingdom, aware and in agony, as they will continue to suffer until the day their immortality is undone. Centuries of suffering.”

  Inwardly I wince, though I betray nothing. “What about the statues in your labyrinth, Ixcythe? Don’t they suffer eternally, too?”

  She begins to snarl, catches herself, and says, “The statues are none of your concern. They deserve to be where they are for one transgression or another.”

  “You mean one mere slight or insult against you or another. I agree to restore all the inhabitants of the Winter Kingdom. That is nonnegotiable. Only if you bring my father here right now so I may take him home with me.”

  “Restore my court first.”

  “No.”

  Without another word, Ixcythe vanishes. When she’s back, she has my father with her and dumps him roughly to the ground. Again, I refuse to betray emotion, merely scan him to make sure she hasn’t injured him in a new way then glance at Barrons, who inclines his head infinitesimally. He is as well as he last was. My spell still holds.

  Ixcythe pours four glasses of wine and slides two across the table to us. “We are not yet done. We must formally consummate our truce. Otherwise it can be reneged upon.”

  “How do we formally consummate it?”

  She smiles faintly, with a ravenous look at Barrons. “In the old days, we required a public mating to seal it. I’m willing to accept that.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m sure you are.”

  “You do know I could kill you. You would let me so near?” Barrons says, eyes glittering with bloodred sparks, looking ravenous himself but not in a sexual way.

  Ixcythe tosses her head, gaze icy and smug. “Not on this world. Within the Sacred Grove of Creation, no living being can be killed.” She glares at me pointedly. “Not even with your spear. It is why we chose to meet here.”

  I say, “The Sacred Grove of Creation? Elaborate.”

  “It was once the home of She Who Sang the Song. The one who entrusted the ancient melody to our first queen. We lived here with the Goddess, long ago. The Spyrssidhe were conceived in this grove,” Azar replies.

  A fascinating piece of Fae history I didn’t know, and it goes a long way toward explaining the lovely Spyrssidhe.

  “This planet is protected. Nothing can be killed here,” Azar continues.

  “Then the Light Court could live here and never die,” I point out.

  “Nothing can be killed,” Ixcythe repeats scornfully. “You’re as bad as Severina. Dying of natural causes does not constitute being killed. We would die here as quickly as on Earth. Come, we must seal our fragile truce.”

  I arch a brow. “No one is mating with anyone, and I think you know that.”

  “A toast is an acceptable alternative,” Ixcythe proposes and raises her glass. “Provided our oath is formally spoken. We must all repeat the same vow before we drink. It needn’t be elaborate or specific, merely something like: to new beginnings; together we will find a way to share the Earth and prosper.”

  I raise my glass, swirling the ruby liquid in the cut crystal, studying it. Abruptly, a dream of sorts, or more of a waking nightmare that I had while sequestered in the chamber beyond time, crashes into me with the suddenness and savagery of a tidal wave, smothering me in terrifying detail.

  I’d met with the enemy, accepted a glass of tainted wine, believing peace possible.

  They’d poisoned me with a drop of the Elixir of Life. I’d become as cold and dispassionate as the Fae. I destroyed humanity and trapped all of the Nine but Barrons in a hellish limbo because Barrons somehow ended up as the Unseelie king and had stood facing me, immense sadness in his ancient gaze.

  Mac, you’ve forgotten everything, he said in my nightmare. Let me take you back.

  But I hadn’t forgotten everything, and I’d hated that I’d ever even been born, all too aware that soon I would no longer even hate it. I’d be fully Fae and lost.

  Forever.

  I wonder now if that “nightmare”—I’d actually had several of them while confined—is more evidence of the queen’s much too subtle gift of premonition.

  If so, and I’m going to escape this one, it implies—if my fear of my father’s impending demise was also a premonition—that his fate, too, can be avoided.